


Balancing an Old Wrong

by Writes_by_Night



Series: Omega Legolas (until I think of a better name) [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abusive Thranduil, Aftercare, Alpha Gloin, Alpha Thranduil, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Child Abuse, Discipline, Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, Gen, Groping, He wanted Legolas to be an alpha, Humiliation, I COULDN'T HELP IT, Legolas is underage, No Underage Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Omega Legolas, Omega Verse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Spanking, Sub Drop, Thranduil's A+ Parenting, alpha Gimli, boys with cunts, fatherly Gloin, genital spanking, sorry - Freeform, still sexual abuse, sub Legolas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-26 23:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writes_by_Night/pseuds/Writes_by_Night
Summary: When Legolas goes to Imladris, the young omega hopes to finally be free from the shadow of Mirkwood, and that of his father.  But then he learns that some Erebor dwarves are also visiting.  And he knows of one Erebor dwarf in particular who has a rather large grudge against Legolas, and with reason.What will happen when they run into each other?  Will it be an eye for an eye (or in this case, a beating for a beating)?  And what is the world coming to when an omega elf can find more comfort from the alpha dwarf he once wronged than he can from his own father?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own/am not associated with/make no money from Lord of the Rings.
> 
> Warnings: While there is no sex planned for this story, there is a lot of sexually explicit actions going on directed at someone who has yet to attain their sexual maturity, let alone their majority, though in other aspects they are already an adult. In universe, some of these actions would be considered over the top at best and outright abusive at worst, but some, which in real life would definitely be abusive, would be considered an established and expected way to show dominance or a proper form of discipline. In fact, in universe, not physically disciplining an omega could be construed as a form of abuse. 
> 
> To be more specific, this story includes exposing an underage elf's genitals in public, spanking said elf in public, spanking said genitals, abuse to a mature alpha dwarf, the forcing of an underage omega to hurt said dwarf (which, in universe, is harmful to omegas as it goes against their nature to hurt an alpha), a complete lack of after care (which, in universe, is the part most find the most appalling and abusive, rather than the actual beatings or humiliation), inconsistent expectations of an omega (Thranduil gets upset when Legolas isn't 'alpha' enough and punishes him for his natural instincts, then later punishes him when he isn't submissive enough), genital groping (as a domination move rather than sexual), and harsh discipline which does have aftercare.
> 
> That said, this story is also turning out rather fluffier than I had first envisioned. It seems everyone wants to cuddle poor woobie Legolas even when they want to hurt him.

Legolas walked through the gardens of Imladris and felt…strange.  The garden was peaceful and soothing to his soul.  These trees had never known violence, not in all their long years growing up from the earth, but they knew the voices of elves and the song of the stars.  Yet Legolas’s own soul felt so ruffled that it almost seemed a violation to bring himself into such a place of peace.  He was used to his father’s halls, where the darkness had long lain over the forest and the mountain and nothing was untouched.

Sometimes his father blamed the darkness for how Legolas had turned out.  Legolas supposed that must be true, for his father was so strong and regal and everything his young son was not.  His son, who couldn’t even have the decency to be born a beta, let alone an alpha like his father.  His son who weakly cried like an infant, even now as he approached his majority, at even slight punishments.  His son, the weak and worthless omega who was so useless and wrong that he needed his father’s hard discipline daily, and it still wasn’t enough to make him good.

Of course, everything was different now, now that he was far from home and his adar was a two weeks journey away, over the mountains and across the plains and through the forest.  He had put his best alpha guard in charge of keeping his wayward son in check for the journey, but the alpha had seemed more interested in looking after the camp and directing the others of his escort in their duties than in finding fault in his prince.  He would order Legolas where to ride as they journeyed, and where to sit out of the way as they made camp, and only had to smack his bottom once when Legolas forgot to get permission before he left the camp to urinate.  Even then, it had only been ten hard smacks over his clothes with his open palm.  And even that left Legolas with tears rolling down his cheeks, like any infant who couldn’t take a tiny bit of pain, even if he had managed not to make any noise.  He must have looked quite pathetic, because the guard had hugged him afterwards.  No one had hugged Legolas like that since his mother had gone away, and to his horror he had cried even harder.

After that embarrassment, Legolas had been very careful to never move from wherever he was put unless he got permission, almost wetting himself a couple of times because the alpha had been busy in directing the camp and he hadn’t dared to interrupt.

And pathetic little omega that he was, he found himself actually wishing the alpha would hug him again.  As if he were a tiny child.  He could just imagine what his father would say if he knew.  He’d have that look of utter contempt, the look Legolas dreaded almost as much as his father’s hand or rod.

Then they had arrived in Imladris, and his alpha escort had handed him over to Lord Elrond, and everything about the lord and his kingdom was so strange that Legolas didn’t know how to feel.  He felt wrong, like an untethered boat left adrift on the river.  The river was gentle and peaceful, but who knew where the current was taking him?

“And how was the prince on the journey?” Lord Elrond had asked his escort.  Legolas had tensed, waiting for his alpha to tell about leaving the camp without permission and how he had sniveled during his light punishment, and probably a dozen other infractions that Legolas had committed during the journey without even realizing.  Legolas could never do anything right.  He knew that.  He wondered how hard Lord Elrond’s hand would be, or if it’d merit a harder tool.

“He behaved well,” his escort had answered, his hand warm on Legolas’s shoulder.

“I am glad.  Welcome to Imladris, Prince Legolas.”

“I leave my prince in your care,” his escort had answered before Legolas could figure out what he was meant to say.  Then the alpha had handed Lord Elrond the letter entrusted to him by his king and had left Legolas alone with the lord.

Legolas had been tense, knowing that at any moment he was going to say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing, and whatever good opinion Lord Elrond seemed to have of him would melt away.  Luckily, Legolas was by far not the only visitor to Imladris, and almost as soon as his escort had left, other elves had approached them to tell of half a dozen things Lord Elrond needed to see to, so with eloquently spoken apologies he had handed Legolas off to another elf, promising to check in on him soon.

The elf had been polite but distant.  He was a beta and he treated Legolas just as the servants in his father’s halls would: respectful but detached.  It was far more comfortable and familiar than Lord Elrond’s warm welcome, and he followed silently as the elf showed him to his room, giving a quick tour so that Legolas could easily find the closest baths and dining hall.

“Do you have any questions, Prince Legolas?” the elf asked after that.

“Am I…do I…may I walk in the gardens?” Legolas had asked awkwardly.  Though it had been a long journey, it had mostly been on horseback and he longed to stretch his legs and to meet the trees and growing things of this strange place, to make it perhaps seem less strange.  He didn’t know what was allowed here.  At home, even as strict as his father could be, Legolas always had free range of the gardens during his free time, but he didn’t dare move in this strange place until he knew the rules.

“Of course, Prince Legolas,” the elf had answered.  “You may go wherever you like, and into any room so long as the door is open.”  Then the elf had hesitated, clearly having more to say but not seeming to know how to say it.  When he did speak, it was only to say, “I’ll leave you to settle yourself in, if you have nothing more to ask?”

“No…thank you,” Legolas answered awkwardly.  The elf had gone to the door, but before he left he had turned and spoken again.

“There are dwarves,” he said.  “From Erebor.  I have heard…I have heard relations are strained…between you.  I’d ask…please avoid…perhaps stay close to your rooms as you settle in?”

“Yes…thank you,” Legolas had answered, not knowing what else to say, and he was left alone at last.  And he was grateful for the warning.  He had met dwarves from Erebor only once before and that…that had not been what one could call an amicable meeting.  In fact, it was about as far from that as a meeting could be short of one side actually murdering the other.  The dwarves had trespassed in the forest and blundered into his people’s festivities and the king, Legolas’s father, had had the dwarves put in the dungeons.  His father had not appreciated the dwarves’ closed lips when he asked them their business, and the strong-willed alpha had made every attempt to show the equally strong-willed dwarves who was top alpha in his halls.  Legolas had…he had felt wrong for weeks even after the dwarves had somehow managed to escape.  And he well remembered the curses the dwarves had thrown…at his father…at his people…but also at Legolas himself.

_“We will give it back to you times ten!  Just you wait!”_

Legolas shuddered.  Still, that had been many, many years before.  He doubted he would meet those exact same dwarves.  And even if he met their kin, perhaps they wouldn’t know who he was by sight.  Of course, they probably knew his name, but there was no reason to fear them here, in an elven home, where violence was not permitted.

Of course, there was violence, and then there was discipline. 

It would be best to avoid the dwarves, if at all possible.  He didn’t want punishment from them…or from Lord Elrond for causing trouble.

With that in mind, Legolas had made use of the baths to wash the dust of the journey away, put on clean clothes, and then, as he had permission, he had walked among the trees closest to his balcony.  He did not doubt the dwarves would have been housed as far from the Mirkwood elves as possible to avoid conflicts, so he felt reasonably secure.  Besides, the trees were so very peaceful, it was impossible to imagine enemies among them.

So there he was, in Imladris, far from home and all he knew, in the care of an alpha he’d barely met and knew nothing of what to expect, among trees so peaceful he felt like he was imposing to walk among them.  He should have felt light and joyous in such a place.  He should have been raising his voice in song and greeting.  Instead he felt untethered and wrong and tainted.  There was a horrible feeling inside of him, one he often felt at home, like he was falling and didn’t know what was below to catch him.  Strangely, the pain of his father’s hand often helped the feeling go away for a bit, though he’d feel even worse after, when he contemplated just how bad and worthless he could be to need so much correcting.

There was no chance of his father’s hand here, and he still didn’t know how Lord Elrond’s hand would feel.  That was probably partly where the falling sensation came from; he was in-between alphas and didn’t know what to expect.

Knowing there were dwarves about…dwarves that he himself had wronged, either personally or their kin…suddenly he wanted nothing more than to return to his rooms and hide until Lord Elrond sent for him again.  These trees were alien and too pure for him, this place too strange, and the elves of Imladris stranger still.

He turned to go, and nearly jumped out of his own skin.

The dwarves were there.  How they had come upon him so silently he couldn’t imagine, unless he had been so lost in the peacefulness of the garden he had lost all attention to his surroundings.  There was a whole pack of them, six in fact, strong and sturdy, and all of them glaring at him.  And what was worse, the one in the front with gray in his beard who glared the hardest, he was not entirely a stranger.  This was not the kin of those he wronged.  It was not even merely one of the thirteen held in his father’s dungeon.  It was the very dwarf his father had brought forth in chains so many years ago before he had handed his son the riding crop.  And this dwarf remembered him well.  He could see it in his eyes.

Legolas took a step backwards, only to discover that no, it wasn’t six dwarves.  There were eight.  He was encircled.

His heart beating frantically in his chest, the elf prepared to spring for the only avenue of escape open to him; the trees themselves.  Even as he moved to get away, however, the dwarf had acted.

“Halt!” he had ordered, his voice so commanding that Legolas faltered mid-leap.  Desperate, Legolas shook it off and moved again to make his desperate flight, but the dwarf had marched to him by then, his hands crushing around his midsection with brutal strength.

“You will halt, Elf!” the dwarf thundered.  “Now, on your knees!”

He had used both his voice and his hands, and even Legolas couldn’t say whether he dropped to his knees through force or choice, the alpha command ringing through his head.

Trying to remember that he was his father’s son, on his knees or no, Legolas forced himself to keep his back straight and head up, his expression devoid of all the tumultuous emotions that stole away his strength and made butterflies dance in his stomach.  This man might be an alpha, he might even be the wronged party, but Legolas still had enough pride not to break down before a dwarf.  Despite these noble intentions, he found his eyes avoiding the alpha’s.  Instead he stared loftily past them, trying to pretend he was above them and didn’t care to look, rather than that he didn’t quite dare to.

“You, Princeling!” the dwarf growled.  “Did you think I would forget you?  Did you think I would forget what you were owed?  A dwarf never forgets, and a dwarf never goes back upon a promise.”

“You need not speak to me as though I were a child,” Legolas answered, gratified when he managed an emotionless tone and his voice did not crack halfway through.  “I am many millennia your senior.”  This was not so much a lie as an exaggeration; Legolas was almost certainly older than the dwarves, but not by much.  He hoped the dwarves wouldn’t be familiar enough with elves to tell the difference.  Unfortunately, that hope was a doomed one.

“Ha!” answered the dwarf.  “You think I don’t know a child when I see one?  You were a child then and even now you’ve yet to attain your majority.”

And to Legolas’s utter horror, the dwarf moved one of his hands from his waist and slapped it hard between his legs, as though to emphasize his point.  Though Legolas had known the dwarf was building up towards hurting him, he hadn’t expected it right then and he couldn’t contain the startled gasp as sharp pain jolted through him.  The dwarf hadn’t withdrawn his hand either, but squeezed his groin hard, palm crushing his penis and fingers digging cruelly into the tender flesh around his cunt.  Legolas couldn’t contain the whimper that followed his gasp any more than he could stop the tears that started to fill his eyes, though he did manage to keep them from falling.

The dwarf’s point was well made, for the package beneath his hand was far too small even by omega standards for Legolas to have been a fully mature adult, even if he had the height of one.  In fact, it would likely be another fifty years before his body completed his sexual maturity, and another fifty before elven society considered him of age.  Still, he hadn’t thought a dwarf would know the difference.

By the time the shock of the dwarf’s crude attack wore off and it occurred to Legolas to struggle or fight back, it was too late to do either.  The dwarf stared him straight in the eyes, then squeezed his groin so hard it was all Legolas could do to stay on his knees and not collapse in agony, then let him go and stepped back slightly, and there was nothing to struggle against.  His groin still throbbing with phantom shoots of pain, Legolas struggled to remain composed in the face of the dwarves and had no will left to flee or fight.

“Well, elfling, now that we’ve proved you’re a liar as well as an unnatural tyrant’s get, are you ready for what is due?  Tell me, elfling, what is it you did to me, in your father’s halls when I was your prisoner?”

It didn’t even occur to Legolas now to not answer.  Nor did he think on how they were in elven halls, and surely if he called for elven aid it would come.  He didn’t even notice that no one was holding onto him anymore and, with superior elf speed, he could surely have fled.  Surrounded by dwarves, half of them alphas, with the feeling of falling still in his gut and the pain in his groin still throbbing, he did as omega instinct screamed at him to do, and answered the alpha.

“I…I hit you…with the riding crop…m…my father gave m…me.”  And now his voice did quake, and he could just imagine how his father would react if he answered him in such a way, and he flinched.  The dwarf didn’t comment on how he answered, however.  In fact he smiled, and even if it wasn’t a kind smile, neither was it a smirk.  The hand that had so recently bruised his hip and crushed his most tender regions now gently caressed the side of his head.

“There you go, elfling,” he said.  “I knew you could be honest.”

Legolas first flinched then, equally instinctively, leaned towards the hand as some of the coldness in his gut eased.  For that one second he actually felt better, but then he immediately felt sick, confusion at his own reaction to a dwarf’s praise overcoming the warmth the praise had given him.  This dwarf was not acting in a manner he had come to expect from alphas.  He was not like his father.  Perhaps he was mocking him.  How pathetic then, that Legolas reacted to that mocking like a cat begging for attention.

Thankfully for Legolas’s churning emotions, or perhaps not, the dwarf didn’t give Legolas long to dwell, for shortly after the caress he pulled away again and asked, in a harder voice, “And how many times did you hit me with the riding crop against my bare skin?”

“F…fifty,” Legolas stammered, and this time shuddered for an entirely different reason.  Guilt.  Because, dwarf or no, order from his father or no, it had felt wrong and the time and it still felt so now.  Omegas are not supposed to beat alphas, they simply aren’t.  That had been part of the point at the time; Thranduil’s omega son doling out a beating to the proud alpha dwarf.

“Fifty,” the dwarf repeated.  There was no praise this time.  There were murmurs from the other dwarves at that, and in spite of himself Legolas started to shrink away before he remembered himself and forced his spine upright again.  “Unnatural thing, unnatural act.  You understand, omega, what has to happen now, to restore the balance?”

“You must beat me,” Legolas answered, surprised himself when his voice didn’t tremble.  In fact, he realized, he sounded a bit relieved.  “With a riding crop.”  He was rewarded by another smile, a warm hand resting longer on his head, gently running over his hair.  It touched against the back of his neck and his whole body felt warm and he held very still, hoping both that the hand would stay and that it would leave, as the instincts of his body warred with those of his head.  The hand did stay as the dwarf leaned closer.  He even sounded kind when he spoke again, though the words sent a lurch through the elf’s heart.

“And what was my promise to you ere I escaped?  How many times would I repay what was done to me?”

“Ten,” Legolas answered immediately, and now he did tremble, because there was easy math there and it did not lead to a pleasant answer.

“So how many smacks with the riding crop would that be?”

“F…five h…undred.”

There was a sharp gasp, not from the dwarf in front of him but from the younger one at his side with the red beard.

“Ha,” growled a dwarf from behind him, “Not near enough.  Why not make it an even thousand?”

Legolas tensed tighter, the only thing now tethering him in place the warm and oddly gentle hand still resting at the back of his neck.

“Relax, child,” said his alpha, before he looked past him to the other dwarves and his voice turned gruffer.  “And peace, my friends.  I do not punish the son for the father’s sins and my promises I keep.  I promised to pay back my injuries times ten, and times ten it will be.”

Strangely, Legolas found himself relaxing again, though there was no reason to imagine that the promise of being beaten for five hundred blows should be any particular blessing just because it was not doubled.  With the dwarf’s full strength behind them, merely returning the fifty would have been agonizing.  Five hundred could well be deadly.

“Now, elfling,” said the dwarf, his voice gentle again.  “I said I’d pay you back times ten, but I’ve no wish to maim you, and at any rate, five hundred seems as much a chore to me as an unnecessarily cruel punishment to you.  Still, as I said, my promises I keep.  So I will give you a choice; you may take the five hundred with the riding crop, but spaced out to fifty a day for the next ten days, or I will reduce the number back to fifty but change the implement.  I will multiply the force of the blows times ten rather than the number.  But be sure, my strength will be greater than what you used on me, and you will surely feel it in your seat for a month yet, but it will be over fast and we will put this unnatural business behind us.”

“The second,” Legolas answered quickly, well trained by his own father not to hesitate when choices are offered lest an even worse fate come upon him.  Then he felt a tremble go through him, knowing that what happened next would hurt quite a bit.  Oddly, he didn’t hope for rescue from his punishment, as he usually did with his father.  It was as the dwarf had said; things were out of balance and this would put it right.

“Well then,” said the dwarf, “Let’s choose a more secluded place to handle our business.”

That surprised Legolas, for his father delighted in humiliating his son by baring him in front of the entire court, making him spread his legs so everyone could see his young cunt and immature cock, before smacking him until he sobbed for mercy as his bottom turned pink, then red, then purple.  His father’s favorite target was his son’s omega cunt hole, a most sensitive location on omegas.

Legolas had no doubt that he would be bared for the punishment to come, for the dwarf had been.  And after the first twenty five to his bare bottom, which the dwarf had taken stoically and with hard glares while Legolas kept looking back at his father, pleading with his eyes to let him stop even as he didn’t dare give the blows less than all his strength, his father had directed him to aim at certain tender locations; first the anus, then the thick alpha cock.  The dwarf had made a noise then, something between a roar of rage and a growled threat, and he had glared so harshly Legolas had dropped the riding crop.  If the glare had been aimed directly at him, he might have dropped to his knees, and he dreaded how his father would have reacted to his son misbehaving so horrible in front of a dwarf, but the dwarf had turned his gaze upon Thranduil himself, not deigning to look at the one doing the a beating.  Legolas had quickly retrieved the crop and then his father had ordered the last five hits directly to the dwarf’s massive balls. The dwarf had been so strong and stoic throughout that Legolas had actually been surprised when, upon receiving the final blow, the dwarf’s eyes had rolled back in its head and it had fainted.

It was after it came to again and was dragged back to its cell, its privates still bare for the world to see the marks, that the threats had come.  Thranduil had laughed.  Legolas had not.

For weeks, perhaps months after, long after the dwarfs had escaped, Legolas still had nightmares about beating the dwarf and he had felt wrong.  A part of him, Legolas now realized, had never stopped feeling wrong.  So when the dwarf told him to stand and follow, Legolas did.

The other dwarves surrounded him with the one Legolas had begun to think of as his alpha leading the way.  A strange serenity had overtaken the elf.  He no longer felt untethered or like he was falling, even if he did feel a bit scared.  He was so invested in following the alpha and accepting his punishment that he startled when Lord Elrond suddenly stood in front of them, tall and regal and with a questioning look upon his face.

“Master Gloin,” he said, speaking to the alpha at the head of the group as was custom, though a custom rarely followed through across species.  “Where are you away to with my young charge?”

“Be at ease, Master Elrond,” the alpha dwarf answered.  Legolas made note of the name Gloin.  He had refused to give it when he had been a prisoner of his father, so Legolas had never learned it before.  “We are off to rectify a wrong long overdue.  Your young charge may limp a bit when our business is done but he’ll not be harmed.”

“I see,” Lord Elrond answered, his eyes turning to look at Legolas.  Legolas worked hard to keep his posture up and to not bow his head, though his eyes betrayed him and turned down and away, pulling his head just slightly to expose more of his neck.  If this had been a different elf kingdom with a different sort of leader, Lord Elrond would probably have intervened.  Even if Legolas had direly insulted the dwarves somehow, many elves wouldn’t see that as something worthy of punishment, any more than if he had insulted goblins or rabbits.  If his father had been there, he would have been ashamed of Legolas quietly going along with dwarfs, alphas or no.  Lord Elrond was not his father.

“This business is just, Prince Legolas?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Legolas answered, before the fear could win out and he could beg Lord Elrond to save him.  He knew how his father would feel on the matter, but even knowing, Legolas could feel the justness of the dwarf’s claim, and no matter what his father said, or did, later, he would give the dwarf his due.

“Very well.  Do you wish for me to witness?” 

Legolas was confused for a moment by the offer.  Why would anyone want more people to see them being disgraced?  It would be bad enough to have the other dwarves as witness.

“He worries that you fear I’ll be overly harsh,” the dwarf Gloin explained, clearly comprehending Legolas’s confusion.  “If you wish him to witness, I will not say no.  He won’t let me go too far and harm you.  I wouldn’t either way, but I comprehend you’ve no reason to trust me at my word.  If you wish not for Lord Elrond, we may send for one of your own kin.”

If imagining Lord Elrond watching made him squirm in embarrassment, imagining one of his father’s guards watching made him shrink in fear.  There’d be no chance then that his father wouldn’t hear of it.  Worse, they might interfere and insist it not happen at all.  And it needed to.  He felt it somewhere deep in his gut.  He needed to balance the wrong.

Suddenly, there were two warm presences at either side, one placing a hand on his shoulder, fingers curling around the back of his neck, the other at his hip.

“Lad?” said the dwarf, while at the same moment Lord Elrond said, “Legolas?”

Legolas blinked.  The touching hands grounded him somehow, when he hadn’t even realized he’d become unsettled.  He stopped wondering how his father would react at some undetermined point in the future and brought himself back into the here and now so he could answer their question.

“I need no witnesses,” he said, proud when his voice came out as it should, as a princely statement and not as a question or with a tremble.  Lord Elrond looked at him for a moment, his stare deep as only an elf’s could be, and then he smiled gently and stepped back.

“Do you need a guide to one of our correction rooms?” he asked then, and Legolas felt his ears start to burn in the manner of an elvish blush, wondering just how many people were to know of what was about to happen.  Then again, the first meeting had been in an open garden.  Was there any chance of all of Imladris not knowing by the end of the day?

“We’ll find our way,” Gloin answered with a half sort of grin as his eyes went to the younger dwarf at his side.  “It won’t be the first time since we’ve arrived that I’ve needed the use of one; I know the door markings to look for.”

The younger dwarf let out an unamused huff and Legolas stared at him in surprise.

“What?” the young dwarf growled.

“But you’re an alpha!” Legolas blurted out, his surprise enough not to censure his words.  “Alphas don’t need correction!”

At that Gloin guffawed out loud, and many of the other dwarfs laughed too, though with more restraint.  The young dwarf didn’t, but rather looked surprised himself, then, if anything, slightly sheepish and much amused.

“You are an alpha?” Legolas asked, no longer certain.  Perhaps dwarves were different from elves, so much so that he couldn’t tell.  He had identified several in the group of dwarves as betas but this dwarf had that sort of aura the elf had come to associate with alphas.  None of the dwarves seemed omegas to him.

“He is an alpha,” said Gloin, “But he’s also my son, and sons will always need correcting, no matter their orientation.”

“Indeed,” said Lord Elrond, “I have raised two alphas, an omega, and a beta, and all four have felt my hand as they needed it.  Now, I will not delay you, for I’m sure Legolas wishes this business over and done, but I will remind you that he was left in my care while away from his father, and I take my duties seriously.  I have not had a chance to greet you properly yet, Legolas, and I would like to.  Be at the evening meal.”

Then the lord walked on again, his strides long and sure and within moments he had disappeared and Legolas was alone with the dwarves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter continues along the same theme as the first, but as an extra warning there is a bit of cruel bondage and object insertion in the form of figging (that is to say, inserting ginger in a rather intimate place, a flashback to his father, not Gloin). And Gloin begins his discipline of Legolas in this chapter with his son Gimli. The discipline is harsh but Gloin is a good alpha and knows what he is doing and he's hurting the omega out of kindness and there will be aftercare coming in the chapter after this. If you feel you're going to need the aftercare bit as much as Legolas is going to need it, you may wish to wait until chapter 3 comes out before you read this one.
> 
> Also, I predicted this will have three chapters, but I might write more. I mean, the original plan was just the discipline and aftermath, but I'm rather enjoying this universe so I might expand, if not in this story then as a sort of series.

If Legolas had been hoping for discretion, then a pale young Mirkwood elf walking in the midst of a throng of glaring Erebor dwarves in search of a free correction room was not the way to find it.  All knew their history, or at least the fact that there was meant to be a sort of feud between them.  Added to the oddity of seeing them walk together, both dwarves and silvan elves were a bit of a curiosity to the inhabitants of Imladris.  Had each been separate from the other’s company they’d have likely turned heads.  Together, and a small throng of the curious and concerned wound up following them.  Most dissipated with one well-placed glare from Gloin, though Legolas had to tell at least three well-meaning alpha elves, and one omega elf maiden, that he was perfectly fine and neither needed nor wanted interference before they reached the room they had come in search of.

His ear tips red from all the attention they had gathered, Legolas was almost glad to have reached the room, forgetting for the moment its purpose in the relief of escaping the looks of the other elves.  It was only after the door shut that Legolas looked around and remembered to be afraid.

Legolas had heard of correction rooms, and indeed, his home in Mirkwood had them as well scattered about, but his father had ever favored public discipline and Legolas had rarely seen the inside of such a room.  If his father wanted an implement to use, he’d have one brought to him.  On the rare occasion Legolas had seen a discipline room (as they were called in Mirkwood), he had found the rooms cold, utilitarian, and intimidating.  The correction rooms of Imladris were nothing like that.

They were enclosed, without even windows, but this was a kindness rather than an intimidation tactic, for, as Legolas would learn later, the rooms were soundproofed.  There were clever vents to allow air circulation without allowing sound to travel, and there were gentle colors on the walls and many cushions piled into a corner, and plenty of mirrors and lamps for light, even, through the use of mirrors, a bit of sunlight.  It might have been a pleasant place to escape to for a nap or a bit of a read.  Then there were the other bits of furniture, the aspects that had Legolas tensing up once more.

There was a rack of implements, including whips and canes and paddles of all sizes and materials, from wood to leather to metal or some combination of the three, like the leather strap with the metal studs or the whip with smooth wooden beads entwined among the strands.  Then there were the restraints; an entire chest of soft elven ropes and cloth restraints, metal and wooden manacles, some cushioned, some not, and harsher bindings.  There was another chest, this one closed, and Legolas did not care to find out what was in it.  In another corner was a table on which medical supplies had been laid out; everything from bandages and a small sewing kit to a jug of water and even a small portable fire pot on which rested a tea kettle.  Finally, there was an adjustable wooden contraption in the middle, commonly referred to as a discipline horse, or more crudely as a spanking horse.  It was designed so a person of just about any height could be bent over it and, if wished, restrained so that said person’s bottom was in the optimal position to receive discipline.

Legolas’s father tended to make due with whatever table or chair was nearest if he wanted Legolas bent over, that is, if he didn’t just have him on his knees or over his knee, but there had been many occasions when Thranduil had opted to have just such a horse arranged when he felt Legolas deserved an especially severe beating.

Somehow Legolas found his eyes riveted to the innocent looking device.  This one had more padding then the last one he had been manacled to.  That one he got to know exceedingly well because his father had left him bent over it in the throne room, utterly naked and exposed, for an entire day and night.  His legs had been held apart and his most intimate private parts on complete display where everyone could see them, where they could have touched them and he could have done nothing to stop them.  It hadn’t just been to humiliate him either, but so that his father could smack him at his leisure throughout the long day. 

At the start of the punishment it had only been embarrassing and awkward, maybe even boring, but by the time his father had left him in the dark to go to his own bed, he’d been so well paddled his entire backside, from the backs of his thighs to the small of his back and especially his genitals in-between felt (and looked) as though they’d been scalded red by a fire, and the places where the contraption held him, at the point he bent and at the manacles, felt bruised and raw as well.  His head felt light from being held upside down so long and his muscles ached from being forced too long in one position.  It had been impossible to sleep in the thing, and as an added cruelty, just before he’d gone to his bed, his father had stuffed ginger root in his well beaten holes, one in his anus and one in his immature, virgin cunt, and then smacked him hard and fast with the heaviest paddle, the thick wooden one with the holes drilled in.  He left his son sobbing hysterically in agony, instructed all lights to be put out, and did not return for twelve hours.  When he did, he still waited another hour before he instructed his son be taken out, almost as an afterthought.  Legolas had been too out of it to even cry anymore, but he still remembered his father’s parting words as his shaking legs slowly carried him away from the horrible torture device, still naked and the ginger still stuffing his holes, for he didn’t dare to pull it out in front of his father.

“You’ve missed the breakfast hour,” he said, knowing that Legolas had had nothing to eat, nor even to drink, in the entire time he’d been punished.  “If you hunger, you will need to wait for supper.  I won’t have you bothering the cooks.”

“Lad?”

The voice that spoke to him now was not his father’s, and for a moment Legolas was disorientated.  Then he blinked, and he remembered he was in Imladris, and it was Gloin, not his father, who would be punishing him, and it wouldn’t last for twenty four hours because there was only going to be fifty hits, even if they were fifty hard hits, and Lord Elrond expected him at dinner after.

“Yes, my lord?” he said, turning to look at the dwarves.  There were only two, Gloin and his son.  Legolas blinked again, and wondered when he’d become so airheaded to not even notice that there were only the three of them in the room, rather than the horde of dwarves he had expected to witness his beating.  Gloin stared silently at him for a moment, then made his way over to the pile of cushions.

“Come here, lad,” he said, “We’ll do this the proper way, over my knee.”

“But…I thought…” Legolas stuttered out, not protesting but confused.  He had known this was meant to be in retribution to how Legolas had beaten the dwarf, and that had involved the dwarf being chained over just such a horse, coldly and impersonally.

“This isn’t about revenge, it’s about balance,” Gloin answered patiently.  “I’m not hurting you because you hurt me; I’m disciplining you because you need it.  What your father did was wrong, lad, to both of us.  After this, it will be right again.  Now, come here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Legolas approached him while Gloin arranged the pillows to his liking.  There were an awful lot of cushions, enough to make a small bed if they had been so inclined, and more than enough to arrange into a sort of seat which Gloin could perch himself comfortably on, leaving still more for Legolas to kneel on, which Legolas hesitantly did, watching Gloin closely to see if that’s what the dwarf had wanted.  It seemed it was, for the dwarf smiled in response, one hand coming again to the back of his neck, not pulling or pushing but simply holding.

It was bewildering.  A moment ago, Legolas had been half petrified in anticipation of the pain to come.  Now, when it was even more imminent, he found himself relaxing, a warm and unfamiliar but good feeling filling his chest.

“Good boy,” Gloin said, his thumb caressing the back of his neck, and Legolas’s entire body thrummed in response.  Never could Legolas remember feeling exactly like this before.  He felt at once floaty, rather like he sometimes got after a harsher discipline, but at the same time anchored, and that feeling was almost completely new.

“Now lad,” said Gloin, still not tugging him over his lap but leaving his hand as a solid presence as he talked. “This is what is going to happen.  You’ll pull off your leggings and hike up those robes and lay over my knee.  You will rest your head on the cushions there.  I’ll give you five warm up hits with the flat of my hand.  Then I’ll ask, and you’ll tell me, clear as you can, why you need this discipline.  If I don’t agree I’ll give you another smack, and you’ll have another try.  If you still can’t get it, you’ll get two more smacks, and then I’ll help you find the right words.  After that the real discipline comes.  My son Gimli there will hand me a paddle and I’ll be using my full strength and it will hurt.  The paddle will be one of the hard, heavy ones, with the holes to stop air resistance so you know you’ll feel it.  You’ll receive twenty-five to your bum and thighs, and then we’ll take a short break.  After that, my son will hand me that rod and he’ll hold your cheeks apart and the next ten will be to your anus.  We’ll have another break, and then we’ll need a little change in position.  I’ll let my son lie back on the pillows and you’ll be in his arms, and he’ll help you hold your legs apart.  Your prick’s so tiny I think ten hits might knock it clean off, so I’ll do four, and the remaining six will go to your inner thighs.  That rod will hurt more than a little sting, it’ll stripe you purple and may bleed you a bit, but my son’s strong and he’ll help you to hold still for me and after that you’ll know there’s only five left.  Now, your daddy made you hit my balls, but your baby peas hardly make much of a target, and anyway, the point is to equal the hits times ten, not match them.  So the final five will be directly to your cunt, and I know how omega’s hate that, and I think you’ll remember those hits for at least a month each time you sit, because I’m going to use the heaviest cane for them, and when I finish you’ll know you got yours back times ten.”

Legolas listened as Gloin explained all this and felt almost as though he were in a sort of trance.  The punishment, as the dwarf described it, sounded painful and horrifying, and yet, there was something comforting in knowing exactly what to expect.  His father rarely bothered to tell him so much as how many times he was going to hit him, let alone with what.  His words were generally more along the lines of ‘Worthless omega, bend over that chair, I’m going to make you sorry.  You’ll feel this still in a week.’

There had been more than one occasion when Legolas had not even been entirely sure what he had done wrong, and asking would be a sure way to infuriate his father further.

“Now,” Gloin continued, and Legolas half expected the order to drop leggings, but instead the strangely hypnotic voice went on to explain more of what was about to happen.  Legolas hadn’t thought there was more to explain, unless he was to receive more than a beating?

“It should go without saying, but I rather think I need to say it here; cry if you need to cry, scream if you need to scream.  Don’t hold back, let it out.  You can even curse me if it helps you.”

At some point, without even realizing he was doing it, Legolas had tilted his head sideways submissively, his eyes closed, but that last point had him opening his eyes and jerking his head back up to stare at Gloin, utterly shocked at the very idea.  The dwarf grinned at the elf’s expression.

“I know it’s not usually allowed, but this is going to be a painful session for you, and I certainly cursed you when it was the other way around.  You can squirm to, if you need to.  I don’t often allow that either, but I don’t think you’ll be able to help it, so instead of making this harder on all of us I’ll just give you permission now.  The only thing I won’t allow is trying to get up and away, or covering yourself.  You do that and I could accidently harm you, rather than just hurting you.  If you think you’ll have trouble, I’ll have my son get some soft bindings to help you out.  That goes for any time in all of this even if you don’t think you need them now; if you realize you can’t take it anymore call a break and tell me you need the bindings.  If you break those rules, I’ll add five strokes to the ones I’m already giving your cunt, and they be just as hard as the first five and I think you’ll regret them.  Do you understand what I’m asking you?”

“Yes, Lord Gloin,” answered Legolas.

“And do you want to start with the bindings?”

Legolas hesitated, something his father hated, but he felt so out of it already he couldn’t seem to help it.  Gloin didn’t seem to mind in any case, simply waited patiently for Legolas to make his decision.  If the beating was going to hurt as bad as it sounded, Legolas didn’t know if he could stand the whole thing without making some attempt to escape, even if only by throwing up a hand, and restraints would stop any chance of making such a mistake.  Oh the other hand, he really hated restraints.  Restraints meant he couldn’t move until the restrainer remembered to allow him out.  His father favored restraints.  He didn’t want anything of his father to be a part of this.

“No restraints,” he answered, though even he could hear the doubt in his tone.  He half expected the dwarf to call him on it, or insist, but Gloin seemed to take him at his word.

“Very well,” he said.  “If you decide different later, say ‘Break’ and when you have the voice for it tell me what you need.  Now, after everything is done and all fifty hits are given, you can have a good long cry on the pillows with me and Gimli there to hold you.  Take as long as you need for that; there’s no hurry.”

If being told he could curse had shocked him, this bit befuddled him.

“You’re going to cuddle me?” he asked, too confused to even worry that his question might be disrespectful somehow.  Gloin looked back, with some confusion of his own, and something else, almost like alarm, but when he spoke he wasn’t alarmed or confused.  His voice merely sounded cautious, as though he had tasted each word before he spoke it.

“Tell me, elfling, when you are disciplined at home.  What happens after the spanking is over?”

“That depends upon how bad I was,” Legolas answered, equally as cautious and still more than a bit confused.  “If I was really bad, I’d be sent to a corner, or to stay in my room until punishment time was over.  If…if I was really, really bad, I’d be left in the restraints for a bit.  But if it was just a quick correction, I’d apologize or do things the right way after, and it’d be over and I could continue on with my day.”

The hand at the back of his neck tightened, and Legolas felt a strange sensation wherein he tried to tense, sure he’d somehow said something wrong, and yet somehow also went boneless in the same moment, the hold at his neck seeming to trigger something of his omega nature that screamed ‘relax’.

“Child…” Gloin said…then paused and looked thoughtful for a moment.  When he spoke again, it was in the same tone he had used to explain his punishment and the rules Legolas had to follow, and Legolas relaxed properly again, as the dwarf gave no indication that Legolas had done or said anything wrong or bad.

“You will take the fifty hits, and it will hurt, and you will cry.  Gimli will let you close your legs and you can roll into a ball if you need to or whatever way comforts you best.  If you’re in restraints, they will be removed at this point.  Then I will put my arms around you and so will my son and we will hold onto you until you tell us to stop.  You may fall asleep, and that’s okay.  We won’t leave you.  When you tell us you have enough of us holding you, we will pull away.  If you’re not done crying, that’s okay.  We’ll wait nearby and give you space.  When you’re ready, my Gimli will hold you again and I’ll check your privates for injury.  This will involve you on your tummy while I look over your backside and I will apply a bit of bruise cream or clean up any welts and apply bandages as needed.  Gimli will part your cheeks again so I can check your hole.  I may stick my finger in you to check how swollen you are.  If you’re too swollen it could cause you problems later.  If it’s really bad, I’ll send for Lord Elrond, and that goes for any part of your body if I deem it serious.

Then you’ll be on your back with your legs apart.  Gimli will help you if you need it.  I’ll check your thighs and prick and apply what aid is needed.  Then I’ll check your cunt.  I’ll be sticking my finger inside you a tiny bit, just in case, but it won’t matter so much if your hole swells because nothing is going to need to come out of it later like your anus.  It will probably hurt a bit while I check over all your sore spots, seeing as I’ll have to touch them and prod at them and all, but you’ll be glad of the ointment later.  You can cry then too, if you need it.  Then we’ll make a bit of tea and if you’re hungry I can send Gimli out for a light snack.

Then when you’re ready, we’ll take you back to your room, or to Lord Elrond if you prefer, and I’ll sit with you if you want or leave you if you want.  And all will be over and forgiven and we’ll never speak of it again, at least not as something you are guilty of.  Now…tell me elfling, do you understand what is about to happen?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered, because Gloin had been extremely clear, and not understanding why Gloin was going to bother with holding him and ointments and tea and getting him to his room wasn’t the same thing as not understanding that it was going to happen.

“And are you ready for it to begin?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered, because that was the only answer to give, even if he’d much rather had said ‘no, let’s not do this after all’.

“Good lad.  And do you understand, Gimli, what we need from you?”

Legolas started slightly and turned his head to look at the other dwarf.  Despite Gloin repeatedly telling him his son’s role and how Gimli was going to hand him things or hold Legolas, somehow, in the half trance Legolas had fallen into while Gloin talked, he’d forgotten that they weren’t alone.  Gimli had an odd expression on his face, part seriousness part something more complicated.  Perhaps it was confusion.  Perhaps he didn’t know why Gloin wanted things to go as he said, with all the cuddling and crying bits, either.

“I understand,” he said, his voice low and oddly gentle.  “I am ready, father.”

“Calling breaks when you need them goes for both of you,” Gloin said then.  “If you need a break, from the spanking or from holding, you call for a break.  Now, Legolas, it’s time.  Pull down your leggings and up with the robe and get in position.”  And the comforting hand at his neck pulled away and patted on Gloin’s knee instead.

A shudder went through Legolas, not of fear exactly, but of anticipation.  He obediently did as the dwarf asked, still slightly surprised that the dwarf was neither insisting on complete nudity nor wanting to be the one to force Legolas’s clothing aside.  Though he’d only been told to pull his leggings down, Legolas found it more convenient to pull them off all the way and he did so, only freezing as he tossed them aside to wonder if that was wrong and if Gloin was going to start adding smacks.

“Good lad,” Gloin said, everything in his tone screaming approval, and once again Legolas felt all tenseness melt away.  He pulled up his robe without further prompt, bunching it up about his waist, and awkwardly laid himself forward over the waiting knees.  Gloin had originally created his own seat with an eye to Legolas’s lanky form and so the elf found himself with his body upper body draped down, his head just reaching the pillow it was to rest on, his hair splaying about and gravity sending his robe from his waist to his armpits, falling over his face.  With an annoyed huff, he tried to rearrange his garb to be less of a bother, but its volume was against him.

“I suppose it’d better just come off,” Gloin said, a bit of a laugh in his voice.  Thranduil often laughed at Legolas when he had him in position, but this laugh seemed warmer somehow, shared between them.  Legolas even found himself smiling in return as he struggled to free himself of the robe, finding it difficult from his position.  In the end, Gimli came and helped him.

“I suppose it’s only fitting, us sharing our nudity,” Gloin said, his tone was apologetic though Legolas was in no position to see his face so it was hard to be sure.  Perhaps the dwarf was still laughing at him.  His head rested on its pillow, his arms on either said resting at the elbows, relaxed for the moment though Legolas knew he’d probably be using them to brace himself quite soon.  His bare bottom and legs lay across the dwarf’s lap, Gloin’s left arm resting over the back of Legolas’s knees with strong and reassuring pressure holding him in place, his feet hanging out over space.  Gloin’s other hand rested firmly on the small of Legolas’s back.

“Here, Gimli, arrange the pillows to give his feet a resting place.  I don’t doubt he’ll kick them over in the end, but at least he can start comfortable.”  Gimli did as asked quickly and efficiently.  Legolas wouldn’t have called the position comfortable, but then, such an arrangement was never going to be comfortable, and he couldn’t call it uncomfortable either.  Not yet.

“Now, first comes the warm up, and then the question.  No point in dragging it out.”

The hand left the small of his back.  Usually at this point Legolas would be tensing in spite of himself, knowing he was about to be hit, but this time, something about knowing exactly what to expect, about the way Gloin held him so securely, Legolas still felt relaxed.  He felt ready.  The balance was going to be restored, and that was right, and that was good.

The first smack to his bare bottom was hard enough to sting, but not much more and Legolas didn’t even make a noise, not even out of surprise.  The second was harder.  The third must have been Gloin’s full strength and this time Legolas did yelp, his hands instinctively grabbing the pillow beneath them because that _hurt_.  The fourth hit was just as hard if not harder, and surely the rumors that dwarfs were born of stone were true, for Gloin’s hand seemed made of granite.  It didn’t help that each hit was on top of the other, never varying but leaving a pink flush over his bottom that grew rosier with each warming hit.  Then the fifth and final warm up hit smacked against his skin, pulling another pained mewl from the elf’s throat, and the hand rested there a moment, feeling hotter than Legolas knew it really was against his skin.

Legolas breathed harshly for a moment as the sting slowly faded, though the light heat remained.  He had hoped that he’d have been able to take at least the warm up stoically.  He remembered how bravely Gloin had taken his beating, never crying or breaking even when he did at last make noise.  How Legolas wished he’d be able to be just as brave!  But he knew he’d break down into sobs, probably quite quickly.  He never could take a beating quietly, despite his father’s best efforts to toughen him up.  It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle pain, for he could, yet the moment that pain came in the form of a spanking and somehow his emotions got away from him and he’d be bawling.  And it seemed he’d already started a bit, for his eyes had gone teary, and the real punishment hadn’t even started yet.

“Good boy,” Gloin said, as Legolas slowly got his breathing back under control.  “You took that well.  Now, I’m going to ask you a question and you need to answer it as well as you can.  Why are you being punished?”

“I was bad, and…”

The smack to his bottom wasn’t hard, but it was unexpected and on top of the earlier sting it wasn’t exactly light either, and Legolas yelped loudly.

“There lad,” said Gloin, rubbing his sore bottom, “I’m sorry for that, but I need to correct you there.  A good boy like you is never bad, and I won’t have you calling yourself that.  You may say ‘I did something bad’, or ‘I made a bad choice’ instead.  Now, let’s try again.  You start a correction by correcting what you said wrong.  Say ‘I’m a good boy’, and then try again and tell me why you’re over my lap now.”

“I…I’m a good boy,” Legolas said, feeling a bit silly and yet, at the same time, his throat started to close up on him in unexpected emotion, like he was about to start bawling without even being hit and he had no idea why.  He paused for a moment, trying to get his emotions back under control but also because he was no longer certain what he was meant to say next.  Going for what Gloin had told him, he finally went with , “And I did something bad.”

“Good boy,” Gloin said, his voice warm with approval.  “Now tell me, what was it that you did wrong?”

“I…I hit you.  Fifty times.  With a riding crop.”

“And why was that wrong?”

“Because…because I’m an omega and, and you’re an alpha, and omegas don’t hit alphas.”

“And why did you hit an alpha?”

“Because my father told me to.”

“There now, lad.  Your father never should have told you to do that.  You’re a good omega, obeying your father, but he wasn’t a good alpha, and now you’re paying for it.  It isn’t right, but it’s necessary, and when we’re done then it’ll be just as though you never picked up that riding crop in the first place.  All will be fixed.  Gimli, give me the paddle.  No, the heavier one with the holes.  No, the next one over.”

“Father,” choked out Gimli’s voice, and Legolas tried to lift his head to see because the young dwarf actually sounded like he was choking back tears, if that made any sense at all, but the elf’s hair was in the way and the angle wrong and he gave up.

“I know, Gimli my lad, but I promise he needs it.  He needs an old dwarf to keep his promises, and he needs to feel redeemed, and a swat to the back of the hand won’t do that.  Bring me the paddle.”

Legolas heard the young dwarf approach and he knew it was time, and he knew it was going to hurt and a part of him was quite glad he didn’t know exactly which paddle had been chosen.

Once Gloin had the paddle he didn’t waste any time.  Legolas thought that he knew how it would hurt, but nothing can really prepare someone for how real pain can be, for every time is like the first when it comes.  The paddle was just about as heavy as any Legolas had ever taken, and the entire brute force of the dwarf was behind the first blow, no warm up this time at all, and the paddle was broad as well as heavy.  Legolas didn’t cry out from the first hit only because the shock of it was too much even for that and he gasped in air instead.  He did cry out at the second.  With the third hit, his cry had a semblance of words, his fingers clawing so fiercely into the pillows he it was a wonder he didn’t rip them as he tried to form a plea for the dwarf to stop.  All three hits were to the exact same spot, the middle of his bottom covering both cheeks at once, exactly where the warm up blows had been.  Four came the same, and five, and it was well the dwarf had such a firm grasp over his legs because already he was squirming, trying to kick free, as his strangled cries turned quickly to sobs.

The next five blows of the paddle were to the back of his right thigh, catching the crease where leg and buttock met, and then five to the left.  Each hit was solid and brutal and already his skin was bright red and it was only a wonder the skin hadn’t been broken yet.

Legolas squirmed and sobbed as the pain quickly grew to something well beyond something he could endure, and yet, there was no way to make it stop.  If he could have called for a break, he might well have, but he was already too lost in the pain to even think to.  The next four were to his right butt cheek, making sure to cover every inch of it, and then the next four to the left.  Legolas did not think he’d ever been hit quite so hard in the entirety of his life; his father may have worked him up to the same level of pain but that was through the number of blows, not the strength behind them.  Legolas could well believe he was being hit ten times as hard as the riding crop had hit the dwarf, and the elf now cursed himself for not having chosen the prolonged daily beatings over this agony.

The final two came down in the same place as the first, in the middle, fast and hot and hard, and he screamed in agony and then just sobbed at the pain, not even realizing that the first twenty-five hits were done with for the deep hot throb continued for long agonizing minutes.

Slowly, the elf became aware of a soothing hand rubbing over his back (not his sore backside, but his pale untouched back), and a voice gently telling him over and over how well he did, how good he took his punishment, what a good boy he was.  The tone was approving and kind, and even though the pain was starting to ease enough to no longer be torture, Legolas started to sob even harder, and he couldn’t for the life of him have said why.

Gloin waited, and then waited some more, never chastising him for crying like an infant, never telling him enough was enough and it was time to go on. He rubbed his back and held him in place and told him he was good.

Finally, after what must have been at least half an hour, Legolas was able to bring himself under control.  His backside still hurt, quite a lot actually, but now that it wasn’t being hit the burn was bearable.

Gloin waited until even the deep shuddering breaths quieted and the elf lay completely still.

“Are you ready to continue?” he asked.  If Legolas was honest, he’d say he felt half a sleep, half floaty, and completely worn out, but he did want this all over and done with, so he answered ‘yes’, and waited in horrible anticipation for what he knew to be coming next.

“Right then,” said Gloin.  “Fetch me the rod, Gimli, and come here to hold the cheeks apart.  Make sure you have a good grip, because if I miss my mark I could hurt him.  Or you.”

There was movement around Legolas, and then the hot agony of his beaten cheeks being grabbed and parted.  He could feel cool air against his hole, and it felt strange as he waited for the first hit to come.

If Legolas had hoped that a shorter rod would hurt less than a big heavy paddle, he was sadly mistaken.  Having the entire force of the dwarf’s brute strength strike within such a small area was actually even worse.  Or perhaps the area hit was just that much more sensitive.  Or perhaps his own brain had already forgotten exactly how much the paddle had hurt out of self-defense.

In any case, the rod struck the elf’s puckered hole and the elf screamed.  And then it struck his hole again.  And then again.

Legolas couldn’t control himself anymore.  He struggled, desperate to make the pain stop.  He did more than squirm, he twisted and kicked and it was sheer luck that his instinct to hold onto the pillows below him was greater than his instinct to use his hands to try and block the next blow, thereby completely breaking the one rule Gloin had given him.  He squirmed hard enough that Gloin would be well in his rights to declare the rule broken anyway, for the elf was definitely trying to escape.  He was also failing.  Gimli had a firm hold of his bottom, not budging no matter how the elf wiggled, and Gloin had a firm hold on his legs, and the hits kept coming and they kept coming until it felt like Gloin was using a knife.  All the struggles did was make his bottom hurt worse from how hard Gimli had to hold it.

And then the tenth blow fell and the beating to his anus stopped.  Gimli let go and that hurt too as his cheeks shifted back to their usual position, and Legolas fell completely limp and spent, not crying, not screaming, not struggling, just breathing deeply.  It felt as though Gloin had beaten all coherent thoughts right out of the elf’s head, leaving just instinct to guide him in how to act.  He was hit and he tried to move away.  He was petted and praised and he relaxed and tried to get closer to the kind warmth.

“Good lad,” said Gloin.  “Still with me?”

Legolas blinked, slowly, then said, “Yes.”  His own voice sounded very far away.

“Good lad,” the dwarf said again.  “It’s time for a change in position then.  Over halfway done.”

“Yes,” Legolas agreed, and didn’t move.  There was a moment where nothing happened, and then two pairs of strong arms were lifting him and he let them arrange all of them as they wished.  He felt so strange, empty and full at the same time, floaty yet anchored.  His bottom hurt, really, _really_ hurt, but the gentle arms now encircling him, pulling him to lie back felt good.  How could a punishment feel even a bit good?  He didn’t understand.

And now his legs were being pulled apart by relentlessly strong hands, and the punishment part became much more real again than Legolas cared for, because he knew what was coming and he knew it was really going to hurt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: same as before with a small reminder that this story does involve an adult punishing a minor by beating their private parts. Gloin does not see this as sexual, not even when he's manhandling said private parts, nor does Legolas interpret Gloin's actions as sexual (though he does find it embarrassing), but it is still a form of non-con and the reason I've labeled this story with that warning. Though if you've gotten this far, you probably don't really need the warning anymore. At any rate, Gloin is going to do exactly what he told Legolas he was going to do. His promises he keeps. Also, the final parts of the punishment are brutal, but not malicious (the opposite in fact), and this chapter does have at least the beginning of the cuddles and after care. It turns out there's at least one more chapter...Legolas needs a lot of care still. And more cuddles. All the cuddles.

“That’s it, Gimli, you’re his pillow and his support.  You’re going to be holding his legs nice and wide for me, and you need to be able to brace yourself because he’s going to fight you.  He won’t be able to help it.”

“He really is a child,” Gimli answered from somewhere over Legolas’s shoulder.  “He’s so tall I thought…I thought your talk was part of dominating him, that he was a youth perhaps, like I am young but still a man, and yet he’s so…tiny.  And Hairless”

“Aye, even with mature elves I’ve yet to see one who could grow a proper body of hair, and elves are naturally a bit titchy in that department when compared to dwarves, but not so small as this one is.  He will get bigger when he matures.  He might even get grapes instead of peas and his little prick will be about long enough to let him use it like a man and stand when he goes, but he’ll never match any dwarf, not even our children omegas.”

Out of it though he was, Legolas belatedly realized the two dwarves were talking about his privates.  His ears began to burn from embarrassment and he tried to close his legs again, but there were strong hands grasping his thighs and they didn’t let him.

“Shh, lad, I don’t mean anything bad by it.  It’s just your nature, and ours for that matter.  You just relax in Gimli’s arms and we’ll finish this.  You’re doing so well, boy.  I’ll do the four strokes to your prick, and the six to your thighs.  Gimli, brace him well.  If you think he’s struggling now, just wait until I stripe his intimate bits with my rod.  And if he gets too much for you, you tell me at once.  I won’t want to hit a part I didn’t aim at, not in this area.  I could do some real damage, especially with the strength I’ll be putting behind each strike.”

“Are you sure his prick can take it?” Gimli asked.  “It’s so tiny…you’re going to flay it half off with that thin rod!  It cut his poor anus to ribbons.”

“Wha…?” said Legolas intelligently, jerking more and more out of that floaty space he had been in the longer they talked.  He had known it had felt like a knife in the end, but he hadn’t thought it had actually bled him back there!  And was the rod really going to cut his prick now?  Not just trying to close his legs, he started to struggle to sit up, getting an ‘oof’ from his pillows for his trouble as he belatedly realized he’d been arranged to lie in the dwarf’s arms.

“That’s enough, my son, you’re upsetting the poor lad.  Peace, Legolas, be a good boy and just lie back.  That’s it.  You’re doing so well.  You took your first hits and now we’re going to finish it.  There now.  This will hurt, a lot I think, it may stripe you, but you will heal well and be fine in the end.  I promised I wouldn’t harm you, and I won’t.”

Legolas did allow himself to be settled again, and it was unexpectedly comforting to know that a person was holding him, though it was odd as well.  He didn’t know why the dwarves went to so much trouble to soothe him or why he liked it so much when someone told him he did well…especially since he was rather certain he’d done horribly so far.  He’d cried and screamed and squirmed and if he hadn’t exactly broken the rule of not getting away it had more to do with a dwarf’s great strength and not for his lack of trying.

Luckily, or more accurately, unluckily, Legolas was given no more time to ponder over the confusing and conflicting feelings this discipline session was giving him.  Now that the elf was in position and about as ready as anyone could be for an impending beating, the dwarf was determined to get it over and done with and behind them.

“Hold him steady,” Gloin told his son again, and Legolas tensed, knowing where the rod was about to strike and suddenly terrified at how it would hurt or that it would injure his prick.  He seemed to have tensed for nothing, however, because for the longest time Gloin only studied his target and Legolas felt his ears growing warm again as his most private places were studied intently by the alpha dwarf.  Then gently, the dwarf put out a hand and started to feel Legolas’s prick, moving it about and then, even worse, squeezing it lightly.  Legolas couldn’t hold back a shudder, or from voicing a soft whimper at the sensation but he managed not to protest further and was rewarded by a softly murmured, ‘Good boy, you’re doing well.’

Then all at once the dwarf seemed to come to a conclusion because he picked up the rod, adjusting it as he wanted so that he held it to half its proper length, and for the first time Legolas realized one of the disadvantages of the position he was now in.  He was settled in just such a way that he could watch each blow.  He could, if he so wanted to, actually stare the dwarf in the eyes as he beat him.  Or he could have if Gloin had been looking towards Legolas’s face, and not at his target.  The dwarf did seem to notice the eyes for he glanced up briefly and gave Legolas a reassuring smile that shouldn’t have been reassuring at all, considering what the dwarf was about to do, and yet still was.  Then Gloin reached out his left hand, the one that didn’t have the thin rod in it, and firmly grasped the head of Legolas’s prick between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it into the position he wanted, straight to the point of tautness and slightly raised.

Feeling his prick man-handled so tore another whimper from Legolas’s throat.  It was uncomfortable, bordering on painful, but doubtless not as much as it was about to be.  The expression on Gloin’s face was focused and calm, perhaps even kind.  It was not twisted in anger or hatred, nor blank and cold, which were the expressions Legolas tended to see on his discipliners.  This was an expression that promised no harm would come.  Legolas actually took comfort looking at Gloin’s face, though when he actually saw the rod being raised, he couldn’t help but close his own eyes and turn his head away, baring his neck instinctively.

The rod still fell once, then twice in quick succession, and flames of fire slashed across his exposed prick.  Even as Legolas jerked within the confines of Gimli’s arms, a scream torn from his throat, Gloin quickly pulled the abused prick up so as to offer the underside as a new target and struck again, one, two, and then the prick was released.

The second scream was louder than the first, the elf jerking so violently that Gimli actually had some difficulty and had to reclaim one of the thighs that had pulled out of his grasp, but luckily this was all in reaction to the pain and so after the strikes had already landed.

When the fire in his sensitive little organ had subsided enough for Legolas to be aware of more than just the pain, to hear Gloin’s soothing words reminding him that he wasn’t alone and he was held and he was good, Legolas opened his eyes again and, a bit afraid but unable to help himself, turned his head as best as he was able to look down and see what the rod had done to him.

His prick wasn’t decapitated, as he had half feared from the pain.  What he could see if it, the top side, had two viciously red stripes parallel to each other.  Where it wasn’t red it was white, but mostly it was red for, thin though the rod was, there wasn’t a lot of space for the dwarf to have aimed at.  That he managed to avoid overlapping was a great testament to his skill.

This wasn’t the first beating to Legolas’s prick, but it was the first to specifically target it, rather than just hitting it as a matter of course as the rest of his private areas were struck, and he hoped never to experience such a targeted attack again.  A paddle might leave him swollen and bruised all over, but that rod had felt like it meant to castrate him.  He couldn’t even tell if he was bleeding or just bruised, for the marks were as red as blood but there was no obvious welling up and he supposed that Gloin had told the truth, that though it was painful and would be for quite a while, the hurt was all surface and superficial and in the end he’d be fine.

Legolas let his head fall back again against Gimli’s broad chest and breathed deep, allowing the pain and fear to fall away and for the warmth of Gloin’s praise to fill him.  He had known this would be a hard punishment, and it was, perhaps one of the worst, though not _the_ worst, no, that time locked over the discipline horse easily beat all and, he hoped, always would.  It had been painful and harsh, and it wasn’t even over with yet.  And it was delivered by a dwarf, which should have humiliated and horrified him.  But it didn’t.  And if Lord Elrond had marched in right at that moment and asked again if Legolas wanted the punishment ended there…Legolas would have turned him down.

He felt…in pain, yes, but…warm and safe and…and like after falling forever he’d finally landed and it was the dwarves who had caught him.  In a rather unexpected way, the pain itself left him feeling…pleasant.  It wasn’t that he enjoyed it, or wanted more of it, but once the actual strikes were over the residual pain made him feel…he didn’t know…the best way he could describe it was that the pain somehow released something inside of him, something dark and ugly that had been there so long he didn’t hadn’t even known he carried it, but it felt so good to let it go.  So when Gimli got a firmer grasp on his legs and Gloin stood up, readjusting his hold on the rod so he’d be able to apply the full length, Legolas didn’t protest, though he whimpered softly and closed his eyes and turned his head so he didn’t see it coming (and wouldn’t his father have had something to say about that?  But Gloin didn’t seem to mind).

The dwarf seemed determined to finish the final blows as quickly as possible.  Just as he’d done with his prick, he struck each thigh its assigned lot in quick succession, so that almost Legolas felt like for each leg he only reacted to one hard strike, and react he did, strongly, for it _hurt_.

Legolas screamed when the rod struck the inside of his right thigh.  There were three strikes, two parallel and one angled to cross both.  The area struck was sensitive, extremely so.  In Legolas’s experience, even a light beating could leave him in agony if struck in that region.  This was not a light beating.  As promised, Gloin used force, and with more room for the swing, and more length to the rod, he could give the thighs even more than he’d given the prick.

Legolas screamed anew when Gloin did the same to the left.  That scream was longer, for the pain in the right had not yet died down before the left was struck, but gruffer, for, after crying and screaming so long, the elf’s voice was beginning to grow strained.

This time, when the elf came to himself enough to look, he saw he was definitely bleeding.  The parallel stripes were long and red, just as the marks on his prick, but the one that crossed them broke skin, and a small rivulet of blood ran down his thighs.  Gloin had been careful enough so far that Legolas supposed the dwarf had meant to bleed him.  That was fair.  The dwarf had been bleeding too, when Legolas had finished.  He was probably lucky he wasn’t covered in welts, considering that he was to be paid back times ten.  He supposed Gloin preferred the paying to come in pain rather than blood.

Gloin set aside the rod at last, gave Legolas a gentle and reassuring smile, then went to get his final implement.  Legolas felt…odd.  On the one hand, this was to be the last five hits.  Five is not a very great number, and he’d already taken forty five, and very soon this was going to be over.  He desperately wanted it to be over.  But the five that stood between now and the punishment’s end…those were going to be the worst of all he’d had.  Five directly to his cunt with the heaviest cane…wasn’t that what Gloin had promised?  And if he pulled away or covered himself, there’d be five more.  And hadn’t he pulled away?  Did he now face ten?

In spite of himself, he could feel fear welling up in him, his breathing coming in shuddered gasps.  The warm pleasure of release that the pain had brought before wasn’t enough to cover the growing dread, and nor was the praise that had left him floating in warmth before, for he hadn’t been a good boy and he just knew he was to be hit ten times and they would hurt and maybe they would break him, and he couldn’t breathe, and…

“Hey now, lad,” said a voice at his ear, not Gloin but similar.  “You’ll be alright.  Just five to go.”

Gloin turned back at his son’s voice, his expression concerned, though most of Legolas’s attention was not on how the dwarf was feeling but on what he’d just pulled from the rack.  The dwarf had not been lying when he said it’d be the heaviest cane.  That was…that was going to hurt.  Instead of coming at Legolas with it, though, the dwarf set it down on the ground and then almost ran to join them at the pillows.

“Legolas, my lad?” he said, “Hey now, you’re alright.  You’ve done so beautifully.  You took all forty-five, and you took them so well.  You can do five more, just these last five.  I won’t lie, it will hurt, and unless my strength does fail me, I believe you’ll still want a pillow to sit on for a month to come, but you are a strong, good lad, and you can handle a little pain, and you can be so proud how you took it, and you’ll know how you were strong enough to do right and balance the wrong.  You’ll be right again.  There, that’s better lad.  You just lie there and let my son do all the work in holding you there, and take the last five.”

“J…just f…five?” Legolas gasped out, his breathing much less erratic as Gloin’s soothing presence and words, not to mention the lack of implement in his hands, calmed the elf’s growing hysteria until he was merely apprehensive and not terrified of what was to come.

“What?  What did you think?  Oh, lad, you behaved perfectly.  I told you that you could squirm and scream and cry if you needed to, and you did, just like I asked.  And you kept your hands to yourself, and I know you wanted to put them up.  Just five more, the exact number I promised, and then we’re done.”

And, now that Legolas didn’t seem to be in danger of hyperventilating or passing out, the dwarf went again to retrieve the cane.

“Are you ready, Gimli?” he asked.  “These will come slower than the rod.  I want to be sure each is my full strength, and besides, I don’t know that he’ll be able to take them if I don’t space them a bit.  I am sorry for that, though; I wish I could make this quick.”

“I’m ready,” Gimli answered.  Gloin nodded.  He didn’t ask Legolas if he was ready.  Perhaps he understood that the elf would never really be ready for this.  At any rate, Legolas had already squeezed his eyes shut, his head twisted away from what was about to happen, his neck bared.

Out of anywhere one can hit an omega, hitting their vaginal cunt hole was the most agonizing place one could aim for.  Gloin, as Legolas had already discovered, had extremely good aim.  The cane he’d chosen for the task was the largest on the rack, and if the dwarf hadn’t known how to use it properly, he could have done a lot of damage wielding it as a weapon.  Legolas didn’t worry about that, though.  He didn’t even worry that real damage might be done to his sensitive little cunt.  If he had instinctively trusted the dwarf before, sometime over the course of the punishment Legolas had come to truly trust him, the kind that comes from experience.  Gloin knew what he was doing, and he wasn’t going to do him harm.  Only hurt.

_Crack_

“Aaiiii!”

The scream was so loud it almost seemed to have time travel capabilities, as the ears heard it almost before the crack that came from the cane.  It came faster than the pain itself, as if Legolas’s body had known what had happened and reacted before his brain could catch up and inform the elf that there was PAIN, PAIN, MORE PAIN.  The scream went on to the end of the elf’s breath, choking him, as if he’d forgotten how to inhale again after.

“That’s one,” Gloin said calmly.  “Good lad, you cry it out.  Now, here’s the second coming…”

_Crack_

The pain started in his cunt and seemed to envelope his entire being, gagging his lungs and squeezing his stomach.  Legolas wasn’t even aware of what his body was doing as it twisted and writhed, all he knew was the pain.  The pain, and a calm, steady voice, almost like an anchor, counting.

“That’s two.  You can do it, boy.  Now here’s three….”

_Crack_

Legolas was still screaming, he was distantly aware, but his voice seemed to have escaped him, even as his stomach heaved, leaving him gagging against the pain buffeting his body.  His nails clawed at his own skin, yanking on his hair, anything to counterpoint the sick all-consuming fire between his legs.  Distantly he was aware of alarmed voices, and then strong arms grabbing at his hands, then something else, soft but strong, like leather, and his fingernails couldn’t find his skin or hair anymore, and he pulled, forcing whatever was binding his hands and wrists to dig into them, to give him something to feel that wasn’t the pain.

“That’s over half done, boy, just let the pain take you, sweet child, and we’ll hold you until you’re ready to come back to yourself.  Three is done, now…four…

_Crack_

The entire world went white, then black, then star-streaked.  Legolas’s throat was raw, and still he screamed, and choked, and sobbed.  His stomach heaved so hard that he tasted bile, and his body was turned about to let it fall from his mouth, and he heaved again, and if he’d been more with it he would have been mortified that he’d just sicked up in front of the dwarves, but the pain was bigger than mortification, it was bigger than feelings.  It was bigger than the wrong feeling he’d held inside him for so many years.  It was bigger than his father’s disappointments and scorn and anger.  It was held him, and lifted him outside of himself, even as strong arms held him to the earth.

“That’s four.  Good lad, good lad, just one more.  Only one.  It’ll be hard, you’ll feel it all right, but it’s the last.  There, Gimli, you brace him, but get ready to turn him again because I don’t know if he’s done being sick, and this isn’t going to help.”

_Crack_

The world was consumed in flame and the fire took Legolas with it and he saw nothing and knew nothing and was nothing, and for a long and timeless moment, nothing existed.

“Five.”

Everything returned again, almost as though his brain had done a bit of a time jump.  There was a moment before, and then now, and nothing in-between.  The now hurt, and he entered it with a scream, and he curled into himself with the agony of it, barely registering that this was allowed, that his legs weren’t being held apart anymore, though his hands remained bound.  Two pairs of arms held him, tethered him to the room, to the mound of pillows, to a place that existed beyond the pain.  The held him when he continued to writhe and try to claw himself and fail because the binding remained.  They held him when the screams turned to sobs.

And when the pain was bearable, and Legolas understood that the punishment was over and Gloin pulled the binding off his hands, the arms held him still.  And Legolas cried.  He wasn’t crying for the pain, not really, not anymore, but somehow he couldn’t seem to stop.  It was like…like he had held a big, heavy, black raincloud inside of him, had held it for years and years and years, and Gloin had ripped him open and squeezed that cloud, and now it was raining at last, raining and raining all out of him, every black heavy horrible bit of it.  He sobbed and he sobbed and warm arms and warm bodies cuddled him, even the residual aches and pains warmed him, and how had he not even known that he had been so cold and full of rain?

How long he cried, how long they held him tightly, lying on a bed of pillows, Legolas did not know.  It felt like hours, but time could be funny in situations like that, and it might have been less, maybe one hour, maybe half of one.  All Legolas knew for certain was that he cried and he cried and, eventually, fell asleep.

He woke up and he was light and he was warm and he was safe.

Elves have long memories, and though he still counted among his people as a child, Legolas had lived many years.  He could not remember, in all those long years, such an awakening as this.

When his father punished him, or had him punished, he’d sometimes find release in the punishment.  For a bit, the pain would take away the feeling of being wrong, of falling, or the guilt from whatever he’d done that had merited punishment in the first place.

Then the punishment would be over, and he’d feel an emotion he had no words for but in his own head called the ‘Bad Feeling’.  It meant falling with nothing to catch him.  It meant that he was wrong inside, somehow, that he was a bad omega who disappointed everyone and did nothing right.  And that feeling had gone with him for years, for years and years, for almost the entirety of his memory.  It wasn’t a feeling so much as a character trait.  Legolas had blond hair, a delicate build, keen eye, and a deep inner wrongness.

To awaken without the Bad Feeling was…he had no words.  Perhaps it was the opposite of the Bad Feeling, a Good Feeling.

That wasn’t to say he was entirely comfortable.  The beating Gloin had given him wasn’t one he was just going to sleep off in a few hours, not even with an elf’s enhanced healing.  Perhaps ‘still feeling it in a month’ was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much.  Gloin did indeed have a strong arm, and he’d given exactly what he’d promised.  Legolas could feel the burning throb still, in his backside, in his groin, in his thighs.  The stripes to his inner thighs awoke anew with every shift of his legs, and he could feel the dried blood making his skin stiff.  And then there were the minor annoyances.  His throat felt rough and his eyes swollen and somehow crying so long and so hard had left his entire body with a residual ache, even as his spirit felt light and renewed.

“Good, sweet boy,” said Gloin’s voice, gruff and kind and filled with approval. “You have had a rough time.  I think you needed this rather badly.”

“I…thank you,” said Legolas, his voice hoarse, but even so the tone was sincere and slightly confused and slightly surprised, which was apt because that was more or less exactly how Legolas felt in that moment.

“Here, lad,” said Gloin then, shifting slightly around Legolas so that he could sit up and look at him without completely letting go.  “I’d like to start looking you over and applying the balm, if you don’t mind.  If you’re not ready yet, we’ll stay and get on with the cuddling.  There’s no rush.  Though I think you’ll feel better with a bit of care.  I know you must be thirsty.”

Legolas felt his ears start to burn, for now that he was awake properly, clear headed and not pain addled, the fact that he was actually cuddling with two dwarves, that the dwarves were cuddling him, made him squirm with embarrassment.  He might still be underage, but he wasn’t a _child_.  He was a fully trained warrior, one who had seen battle in the forest, and just because he hadn’t reached his majority didn’t mean he needed cuddles.  Even if they felt good.

“You can let go of me now,” Legolas answered quickly.  Gloin did, and Legolas actually had to work to keep from reaching back for him, to stop a soft whimper from escaping as the good solid hold released him.  In fact, if Gimli had let him go at the same time, he might not have been able to stop himself from voicing his displeasure, but the younger dwarf did not let him go.

“Father?” said Gimli instead, a questioning tone in his voice.

“You just keep holding him, my boy,” said Gloin.  “All omegas need a firm anchor to come down to.  You can see how he’s curling up to you now that I’m away; it means he needs contact, so give it to him.”

Legolas felt his ears burn even redder to hear them talk about his needs like that, especially embarrassing when he realized he had, in fact, reacted to Gloin pulling away by burrowing more firmly towards Gimli.  No wonder the second dwarf hadn’t let go when Legolas had said they could; the elf hadn’t let him!  He still couldn’t quite make himself stop or pull away.  Also, what did the dwarf mean by ‘all omegas’?  He wasn’t talking like Legolas was acting weird or babyish.  He was acting like this was…normal?  Legolas didn’t understand, and he didn’t like not understanding.  He was only a hundred years away from his majority; surely he should know what was normal for an omega by this point.  None of this made sense.  Maybe dwarves were just different…though that didn’t explain how Gloin seemed to understand so well what Legolas felt.

While Legolas tried to sort through his tumultuous emotions, Gloin moved to the medical desk, set the kettle to boil, and started sorting through what he wanted.  He moved quickly and efficiently, apparently familiar with what was available and knowing what he wanted.  His first task was to take the pitcher of water and poor out a glass that he brought to Legolas.  Gimli helped Legolas to sit up, an awkward proposition as the elf had no desire whatsoever to rest any weight on his bottom, but still felt so boneless he found it difficult to get in any position that required him to support himself, such as on his knees.  Gimli solved the problem by sitting up himself, then pulling the elf into his lap, so the sorest parts of his bottom were between his legs with nothing beneath.  It wasn’t a perfect solution, for Gloin had been quite thorough and any form of sitting was uncomfortable, but it was better than the alternative.

“Don’t worry, Gimli,” said Gloin as he approached with the water, and Gimli struggled to find a better arrangement for the elf, “He’s a good, strong lad and he can handle a bit of pain.  It’s good for him, natural.  It’ll be a reminder that all is right once more.”

The words were to Gimli, but Legolas felt himself almost preening over them.  After having spent so much time sobbing over the dwarves, hearing himself referred to as ‘strong’ and ‘able to handle pain’ felt something of a relief.

The water felt wonderful on his raw, dry throat.  Legolas hadn’t even realized he was thirsty until Gloin gave it to him, and then he couldn’t gulp it down fast enough.

“Easy, lad,” Gloin said, feeling it necessary to pull the cup back for a moment before the elf drowned himself.  “Now, do you remember what I told you was going to happen next?”

“You are going to look at…at where you hit me.  And put on bruise cream.”

“That’s right,” said Gloin.  “And I’ll clean what needs cleaning and bandage what needs bandaging, though I don’t think you’ll need that.  This will be uncomfortable, probably painful because I’ll be poking and prodding in some tender places, but after you’ll feel better.  Remember, this is care now, not punishment, and if it’s too much and you need something for the pain, you tell me.  I know you need the pain, but there’s pain for reminding and then there’s punishment pain, and the punishment is over and I won’t have you feeling you’re being punished still.  Do you understand, Legolas?”

“…yes?” answered the elf.

“That did not sound like a statement, lad,” said Gloin, the reproof in his voice gentle, though Legolas still wilted slightly in response.  “Let’s try that again.  Tell me, what is about to happen?”

“You’re going to check me in the places you hit me and clean them and put on cream and maybe bandages.”

“And what do you do if it hurts?”

“I can handle pain.”

“I know you can, sweet child; you handle pain beautifully, and you pleased me so much, coming with me to balance what was wrong and you did everything I asked perfectly.  I know you can handle pain, and I know you need some pain right now, but what are you going to do if it’s not just a little pain?  What if it hurts, hurts like a punishment hurts?  What do you do?”

“I tell you it hurts.”

“And what do I do then?”

“You…give me something for the pain?”

“Exactly right, sweet boy.  I knew you could listen well.  Now, let’s start with that sore bottom you’re trying so hard not to squirm on.  You just lie down on your belly, and my Gimli will hold you, and I’ll take care of you.”

And Legolas did, feeling warm with praise and light from a released wrong, and if he was a bit confused why Gloin was so insistent on checking him over and putting on cream, particularly when Legolas already knew it was mostly bruises, and what wasn’t would heal, for he’d had much worse in the past and hadn’t needed treatment, well, Legolas didn’t quite want to ask, somehow.  And Gimli didn’t let him go.  It seemed Legolas’s father might be a bit wrong about dwarves, for he always said they were grasping, lying, violent little thieves.  Legolas could just about allow for violent, as his backside attested, and little was a given, but lying?  If there was one thing Legolas had learned that day, it was that their promises they keep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter is all aftercare, but as a very final warning, Gloin is very thorough in checking that Legolas isn't injured. This includes inserting his finger in some intimate places. Neither Legolas nor Gloin sees this as sexual, but that doesn't stop the possibility of it being read in that way.

Lying on his belly was a relief in one direction, for it took the weight off his bruised backside, but not so much in the other, for it left his groin in contact with the pillows.  Soft though the pillows were, Legolas was so sore down there that even that was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes and make him want to beg for pain relief.

He managed anyway, wincing but not crying out.  It was always easier to bear pain when he wasn’t being hit, for some reason.  He had once been bitten by a spider and it had taken his companions over an hour to realize because he hadn’t voiced his pain.  Anyway, once he was properly settled and not scooting about, the pain subsided once more to merely uncomfortable, and he was glad he hadn’t made a fuss over such a small thing.

Gimli rearranged himself too, so he could lie next to him so that Legolas could feel his body against his, a solid and comforting presence, and the dwarf could run his hands over the elf’s back and pet his hair and squeeze the back of his neck.  Legolas still didn’t know why this felt so good, why he wanted to melt into the touch, but after all the punishment and the cuddles and everything he didn’t have it in him to pull away.

“Good boy,” Gloin said, and just those words were enough to make Legolas melt further.  Then the dwarf knelt next to them, a jar of something that smelt sweet, but sharp, the sort of smell Legolas had come to associate with medicines.  Gloin’s large, strong hands once more connecting with his sore backside had the elf flinch in spite of himself, though the touch was gentle and light, cold even for his fingers were coated in the balm.

“There, lad,” said Gloin softly, “I know you’re hot and sore, but feel how cool and soothing the cream is.”  It was that, almost uncomfortably cold at first, but even that felt good because his bottom was still so warm from the paddling.  Gloin kept his touch light, surprisingly gentle for Legolas knew how firm that hand could be, and the dwarf was generous with the balm and carefully spread it over both globes and the backs of his thighs.

“He’s really red,” Gimli said, sounding awed.  “I’ve never seen such a well paddled bum.  It’s so red, already purple in the middle.  I think I’d be crying for the pain relief if you ever felt the need to correct me so hard.”

Legolas couldn’t see his own bottom, particularly as he’d taken to the idea that if he didn’t look, then this wasn’t embarrassing and he could just enjoy the attentions, and had buried his head in his arms, but Legolas could well imagine how red his bottom must be.  It certainly felt, even now, like he’d been made to sit on a hot frying pan, and the cold balm was a definite comfort.  Listening to the dwarves discuss how hard he’d been paddled made him want to burry his head in the pillows and never come out again, but he didn’t even think of telling them to stop or go away, nor did it cross his mind that Gimli might be encouraging him to ask for pain relief.

“Aye, I was hard on him,” said Gloin, “But he’s a good, strong lad and you see how he can take the pain.”

Legolas felt his ears starting to burn almost as much as his bottom.  Their talk was embarrassing, but reassuring somehow, though the elf couldn’t imagine how either dwarf could have come to call him ‘strong’, not after the way he’d carried on during the beating.  Somehow, Gloin seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, for his next words could almost have been said directly to the elf, rather than to his son.

“There are those omegas who will fight the punishment, even though they know they need it.  I’ve known some who screamed and cried before I even touched them and I had to drag them into the room and put them in restraints to hold them still.  You remember how he was the one who told me he needed me to hit him?  I chose the method, but he knew he needed it and he didn’t fight.  He did just as I told him, even though he knew what was coming.  He walked in the room himself and he bared himself and he lay over my lap himself.  He is a strong omega, and he took what he needed and did just what he was told.  And I know if he needs something for the pain, he’ll tell me, because he’s a good omega who listens.”

And now Legolas’s ears were burning from an entirely different kind of embarrassment than he was used to, one that was something closer to pleasure.  It had never occurred to him that not fighting a punishment might be considered a sort of strength.  His father had only ever commented on the tears with great disapproval, but he took it for a matter of course that if he told Legolas to bend over, his son would.

“Now,” said Gloin, once he’d thoroughly coated every inch of his bottom, “I need to see to your poor anus.  Do you remember what I told you was going to happen?”

It took Legolas a moment to realize it was him who was spoken to and that he was meant to answer.  The elf had become somewhat disconnected from what was happening, floating in the confusion of being praised and not being quite sure he deserved it and wondering why the dwarves treated him so differently than any other alpha he’d met.  Gloin didn’t push him, waiting patiently, but when the elf still hadn’t answered he did say, “Legolas?”

“I remember,” he said into his arms, and hoped that would be enough.  It wasn’t.

“And what do you remember, lad?  Tell me what I need to do.”

“You need to look at my…hole,” Legolas answered, “And…and see if it’s swollen.”

“Aye, and likely clean it, for I did make you bleed.  And how do I see if it’s swollen?”

“You…you stick your finger inside.”  Legolas’s ears could not be more red.  He thought they may well be redder than his bottom at this point.  It was always embarrassing when adults had to look at his private areas.  Sometimes, one of his attendants would take him to a healer after one of his father’s harsher punishments, and, though the healer was always professional and quick, he much preferred to hide in his room and take care of himself, even if it did hurt for longer.

“That’s right.  I know it’s uncomfortable, but I need to check.  And what will I be doing if I find something isn’t as it should be?”

“You…you will be going to get Lord Elrond to look at me?”

“Good lad, you’re memory hasn’t failed you.  Though it’ll be my son fetching Lord Elrond, for I won’t be leaving you.  Now, you just lie there as you like, and remember what I said about hurting bad, for I think this may well be a time the pain will be too much.  Gimli, I’m sorry to pull you from his side, but I’d like you to hold his cheeks apart for me; it’ll make it easier and faster.”

Legolas did not want to admit, even to himself, how unhappy he was about Gimli pulling away, even a little bit.  There wasn’t a firm hand at his neck anymore, or soft fingers in his hair, or a warm presence at his side.  In fact, it left him feeling a bit cold, and he shivered.

“Sorry, lad,” said Gloin, no doubt feeling the shiver, for he had his hand resting on his back, just above the glowing globes.  “I’ll be quick, and he’ll go back to lie with you again as soon as he possibly can.”

Then there were hands on his bottom, much firmer than the feather light touches Gloin had employed to put on the bruise cream, and his cheeks were pried apart.

“Ai!” Legolas could not hold back a cry at the action, though he muffled it in the pillow and otherwise didn’t move.  The hard hands pressing on his hot, bruised bottom awakened a flare of pain like an echo of his punishment, and the parting of his cheeks tore at half healed micro tears in his crack and especially in his rosy puckered hole.

Both Gloin and Gimli waited a moment, but when Legolas made no more noises, Gloin got on with it, first running a wet cloth up and down his crack, then fetching a bottle of something else to wet the cloth and quickly running it over the elf’s crack again.

“Aiii!” the cry was louder, for the new liquid burned unexpectedly, especially everywhere where blood had been drawn.  This time, Legolas did move, bucking his hips, which in turn made his bruised backside even sorer for Gimli had a firm hold and didn’t let him thrash about and the bruises inadvertently pushed into his hands.

“Sorry, I should have warned you,” said Gloin, “That was the disinfectant.”  He gave Legolas a moment, either to calm down or to tell him it hurt too much.  Legolas did the former, though it took him a moment.  When he did, Gloin was careful to warn him of what was to come.

“You did bleed a bit from the rod, but not as bad as it first looked.  The tears are small and the way you elves heal, I don’t think they’ll cause trouble when you have to…er…go.  But mind, you are to go to a healer straight away if I’m wrong.  That’s a sensitive place for injury and no one will be happy if there’s an infection.  Now, it’s time to check how swollen you are.”

Legolas had been somewhat dreading this moment, purely out of embarrassment of the alpha dwarf sticking his finger inside him _there_ , but he soon learned he’d been dreading it for all the wrong reasons.  The dwarf’s fat finger, liberally dipped in the slick balm, probed his red and swollen and torn hole.  The sting from before re-awoke times ten, and then Legolas felt the finger pushing, then pushing harder, then harder still, trying to force himself inside.

At first the elf merely grabbed the pillow under his head and hugged it hard, knuckles white from how hard he clinched, but as the assault continued, and then continued, and got worse, he broke.

“Ai, it hurts!” he wailed out loud into the pillow, and the probing stopped immediately.

“Do you need something for the pain?” Gloin asked.  “I’m afraid I still need to finish this.  You’re very tight and swollen, and I do think I may need to send for Lord Elrond, but I want to finish examining you myself first.  Should I give you something to numb you now?”

“…yes, please,” Legolas whispered, somewhat muffled by the pillows but the dwarf heard him all the same.

“Good lad,” he praised.  “I knew I could trust you to ask if you needed some help.  I’ll be back in just a moment and you will feel so much better, and maybe after you relax I’ll see if we need Lord Elrond after all.”

Legolas, who had lost his embarrassment in the pain of the moment, blushed anew, first in embarrassment from having to admit the pain was too much, then in pleasure at being praised.  Gloin left him for a moment, then returned with a new jar, and soon the fat finger returned with a new cream on it.  Legolas whimpered when his sore hole, that still throbbed in phantom pain from the earlier attentions, was once again touched and it _hurt_.  It only hurt for a moment though, for, just as promised, the cream had some kind of numbing agent in it, and his hole felt cool, and no longer all hot and sharp and throbbing.  Gloin spread the numbing cream all up and down his crack and even a bit on the top, where the bruises from the paddling were the worst, and Legolas sighed in relief as the unending heat cooled, at least a bit.

When the finger returned to probe his hole it wasn’t completely painless, but Legolas felt numb enough there to bear it.  He felt the finger push, then push harder, an unending pressure, until finally his hole gave and he could feel the tip inside of him.  He thought Gloin might pull it out then, but instead the finger pushed even harder and he could feel more and more of it until almost all the finger must have been pressed inside of him.  The finger started to slide out, then pressed in again, then twisted.  It went on for a bit, and if it weren’t for the numbing cream, Legolas would have been in agony, but as it was it mostly only felt uncomfortable and a bit embarrassing, and then the finger slid out again and Gloin told Gimli he could let go and the examination was over, at least that part.

“I’m sorry to say you’re very swollen,” said Gloin, “That rod was thin and it sliced as well as bruised, and your anus is very hard done by indeed, and I’m not surprised you needed something for the pain.  I’m so proud of you for asking, and you lay there so well, even though I know that was uncomfortable.  Well…I’d like to say it’s over and done, but as I said, you’re very swollen.  Still, I know how elflings heal faster than dwarves, so maybe you’re alright.  I think I’ll give you a choice here, lad.  My Gimli can go get Lord Elrond and he’ll decide if you’re alright or if more needs to be done…or we’ll leave it for now, but after dinner we’ll come to your room for another look.  Mind you, if you choose the second, we may have to call in Lord Elrond anyway if the swelling hasn’t gone down, but maybe we won’t.  What would you prefer?”

“I…I don’t…the second,” answered Legolas.  And if there was a very secret part of himself that chose that just because he liked the idea of the dwarves coming to take care of him again, no one needed to know that.  It wasn’t that he wanted to be probed again; he definitely didn’t.  But the other parts, the kind voice, the kind hands, the…the attention.  It had suddenly occurred to him that once this was all over, there was no reason for the dwarves to bother with him again.  There’d be no more need, and Erebor dwarves weren’t exactly fans of Mirkwood elves and why would they want to see him again once this was over?  And yet, though he didn’t even dare admit it to himself, Legolas rather wanted them to stay.  To stay and tell him when he was good and correct him when he was bad and pet his hair and be…safe and gentle and kind.  And if Gloin thought he needed to check Legolas later, then Legolas was happy to let him, if that checking came with everything else.

“Very well,” said Gloin.  “Now, sweet boy, I’ll need you on your back with your legs spread, because I need to check your other side.”

Legolas did as he was told, though he carried his pillow with him as he rolled over, for he found he liked having something to hold and hide his face in, and Gloin hadn’t chastised him for it yet so he supposed the dwarf didn’t think anything bad about it.

Rolling onto his sore backside, even on top of pillows, was not comfortable, but it wasn’t his full weight like sitting would have done and the worst of the bruises were still numbed so Legolas didn’t even whimper this time as he got in position.  Gimli moved to help him, though the elf didn’t need as much help as he had the first time around, but it was nice to have kind and comforting hands on him again, especially when one slid under his head and grasped his neck.

“Just look at you, doing just as I asked and not a word of complaint!” Gloin praised warmly.  “Now, I’m going to start with your thighs where I striped you, and the disinfectant will sting a bit.  I’ll be using it on all your bits whether you bled or not, just to be sure.”

The stripes on his thighs were sensitive and, as he had warned, cleaning them stung horribly, but Legolas clutched at his pillow, and Gimli petted his hair and it was soon over and Legolas didn’t feel the need to ask for the numbing cream, though Gloin had kept it handy.

“Good lad, you did bleed but I don’t think this will need a bandage.  You do heal fast!  Though I don’t think you’ll want to ride a horse anytime soon, to spare your backside and your thighs.  Now, I’m going to clean your little prick and check it over to make sure I didn’t hurt it worse than I aimed to.”

This was just as embarrassing as when he had to check his anus, and Legolas shoved his pillow in his face and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening when Gloin gently lifted his prick by its head and studied the stripes he’d given it.

“Red and sore, but no blood,” Gloin announced, “And it may hurt to pee for a while.  If you find it hurts too much then, or if it won’t come out at all, you must go to Lord Elrond at once.  If you’re too shy to explain, you can get me and I’ll do it for you.” Then he wiped it with the disinfectant just as he’d promised.  It didn’t sting in quite the same manner the open wounds had, but being rubbed there was not painless and Legolas whimpered into his pillow, and started to close his legs before he remembered not to.

“Good, strong lad,” Gloin said in response to this.  “Only one bit left to check.  Now if it gets to be too much you can ask for the cream and you can ask for Gimli to help you to hold still, one or the other or both at once.  I trust you to ask when you need it.  You’ve done so well.”

Then a wet cloth went to his sore, sensitive cunt and Legolas shuddered and muffled a whimper in his pillow.  Gimli squeezed his neck even tighter than before.  Gloin was a gentle as he could be, but the cane had blooded the elf and he had to clean that before he could even see how severe the damage was.

“Well,” he said, once he could see, “Not near as bad as it first looked.  I know omegas hate being hit there, but nature has made you to need it and I see it took the hits very well indeed.  You won’t want to sit for some time I imagine, but I don’t think we need Lord Elrond for this and you should heal well.  But first I need to be sure o things, so I’ll be doing what I did before and sticking a finger in.  Now, I’m not even going to ask if that’s too much because this is going to be worse than your anus I’m certain of that, so I’ll do the antiseptic first and then the numbing cream, and then I’ll check for inner damage and swelling.”

The next cloth burned and stung and made his sensitive cunt hurt anew and Legolas first screamed into his pillow then whimpered, but somehow didn’t close his legs or start to cry.  Directly after came Gloin’s fingers, slick with the numbing agent, and it was such a relief that Legolas shuddered and let out a noise between a sob and a sigh.

“Good boy,” Gloin continued to murmur as he checked the elf over, and then the finger was pushing at the swollen red hole, and he went at it harder and faster than he had Legolas’s anus and soon Legolas could feel the sensation of the dwarf’s finger inside of him.

This time Legolas knew more what to expect so it didn’t shock him when it kept pushing in, then pulled out a bit, then pushed again.  Finally it twisted inside of him.  It felt very strange, but not horrible, though not pleasurable either.  Legolas knew, in a vague sort of way, that his hole was meant for mating as well as for punishment, and that one day he was supposed to want things stuck inside him there, and enjoy it even, but he was still too young for that desire to awaken in him and he still associated anything being inserted as part of punishment or something healers did to check him.  Nor did Gloin touch him more than was necessary to check him, and once he had felt his insides to his satisfaction and knew the elf wasn’t injured there, he pulled his finger free.

“There lad, that’s done, and you can close your legs.  You did beautifully, and I’d like you to sit up and have some more water and you can get dressed if you like.  You’re quite sore down there, I’d imagine, and swollen but I know you’ll heal.  Omegas are meant to take abuse there; it hurts but it heals quickly and well so it’s the best place to aim for in punishments.”

Legolas sat up, with some difficulty for, as Gloin had observed, he was quite sore, though the numbing agent had handled the worst offenders from the beating and with all the cushions to help him it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.  Gimli was even kind enough to give him a hand and help him up so he could kneel with his knees on a pillow and didn’t have to have his sore bottom touch anything at all.  Gloin brought him a glass of something hot that turned out to be tea.  Legolas hadn’t even noticed when the dwarf had made it, nor even had noted when the teapot had whistled, but he was glad of it now, for it warmed him and was sweet and, besides that, he was quite thirsty.

Legolas had actually grown quite comfortable being naked, but he knew he couldn’t stay that way, and the very idea of walking outside this room without his clothes, letting everyone see the marks of his punishment, was enough to make him just about die of humiliation (and how often had his father made him do exactly that?), and so after he finished his tea, he let Gimli help him to slide his robes back on.  The leggings, however, gave him pause.  Though of a soft material, they were not near loos enough to be anything like comfortable.

“I think you better leave them, lad,” Gloin suggested, “No one will be able to tell with those robes, and I think we can bundle them up small enough that no one will realize what you’re carrying when we go back to your rooms.”

“Is…is that what we’re doing now?” Legolas asked, feeling very reluctant.  Never in his life had he been in a discipline room and not wanted to leave immediately, but yet, he found himself not wanting to leave this one.  Or perhaps it was the dwarves he didn’t want to leave, a strange concept as well.  Never had he imagined a case where some Erebor dwarves would come along and hurt him and he’d want them to stay, and yet here he was.

“No rush, lad,” answered Gloin.  “If you’re ready to go, we can go, and if you wish to stay longer, we’ll stay longer.  We’ll walk you to your rooms only when you’re ready, and if you want us to stay with you in your room a bit, we’ll stay.  We’ll even walk you to your dinner with Lord Elrond, and if he doesn’t mind, we’ll eat with you.”

“Lord Elrond…” Legolas said, suddenly remembering the dinner and realizing, with some alarm, he had no idea what time it was.  For all he knew the dinner had started an hour ago!  What would Lord Elrond think if he arrived so late, especially if the reason was needing to be disciplined?  This was not a good start to his stay in Imladris.

“Don’t worry, lad,” said Gloin, smiling calmly in the face of Legolas’s growing panic.  “Lord Elrond will understand; he’d understand even if you had to miss dinner completely, though in that case I’d send Gimli to explain, and you’d likely have Lord Elrond joining us in your room, for he’s a good alpha, I can tell, and he’ll be taking his responsibilities of you seriously.  Anyway, you’re not even late yet.  Relax.  We have all the time you need, and then some.  Let me just clean your face, and if you want more cuddles in here you can have them, and if you want cuddles in your room, you can have them, and if you need time alone to sort out your head, I’ll give you that to and come back to walk you to dinner.”

“I…” Legolas said, but he didn’t know what he wanted, what he needed.  He didn’t even know how to articulate his own needs to himself, let alone admit them to the dwarves.

“Here, Legolas,” said Gloin after a moment when Legolas did nothing but kneel on his pillow, clutching his leggings and looking small and lost and confused.  “I know you don’t know me, even if you now know my hand quite well.  We met under bad circumstances, with your father trying to humiliate me and using you to do it.  And sweet omega that you are, you tried to please your daddy and hurt yourself.  I promised to make it right, and how many years did you have to wait on me to do it?  And I suppose now you have a lot of confusing thoughts in your head, like how your daddy wouldn’t like us being friends, and how it seems you aren’t used to my kind of discipline, the kind where the alpha stays after and…and now isn’t the time to explain that kind of thing, but I know it confused you. 

Well, I think I know you quite well now.  You’re a brave boy, and a strong one, who knows when he’s done something wrong and knows what he needs to do to right it, and so you did.  I’d like us to be friends, and if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to spend time with you while you’re here in Rivendell.  We can talk and you can tell me about those trees you elves are so fond of and maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two about dwarves.  Will you spend time with me, Legolas?  Can we be friends now?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered, before he could even give himself time to think it over.  It was what he wanted, he realized, more than anything.  His father would have hated it.  His father was going to be so angry.  Legolas thought it might be worth it anyway.

“I knew you were a good, brave lad,” said Gloin.

“And me?” asked Gimli, “Will you be my friend?  For I feel I got to know you a bit as well, and besides, there are not many youths here.”

“Yes,” Legolas answered, almost surprised that the younger dwarf thought he might be excluded, for the elf had come to think of the two as a sort of package deal.  “Yes, of course.”

When Gloin asked, a second time, if Legolas was ready to return to his rooms, the elf readily said he was.  The walk down the halls of Imladris was short, but the elf was glad of his new friends for the halls seemed unexpectedly crowded.  His ears burned yet again when he realized he was the likely cause of all the traffic; everyone knew what room he had been in and why and now wanted to see how he fared.  But with Gloin and Gimli on either side, none approached or barred their passage.

Gloin and Gimli left him to his thoughts in his room, as Legolas asked.  He hadn’t wanted them to go exactly, but he still felt confused enough by all that had happened to want a bit of space to think it over.  The dwarves promised to return when it was time to join Lord Elrond, and they did.

A dwarf keeps its promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> That said, I did enjoy this 'universe' and I'm quite tempted to keep on writing more. With this in mind, I'm creating a 'series' so people can subscribe if they want to be alerted if I do continue on with the adventures of omega Legolas. I have a sort of idea for a short story where-in Elrond tries to explain to Gloin why he can't just kidnap the Prince of Mirkwood and Gloin wants to know how Elrond can even think of allowing an alpha to continue caring for an omega who didn't even know that aftercare was a thing, just because the alpha happened to be a king. And then maybe the quest happens. But no promises.


End file.
